


Missing Moments

by Sarai



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of glimpses of kind-of-sort-of-almost grown-up Alex Summers, his baby brother Scott, and how love, hate, and fear make them who they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story will include X-Men: Apocalypse spoilers; I'll post a warning when the story reaches that timeline.

Alex Summers had sat here before. He was in what was usually a comfortable armchair in the living room, but he couldn't relax into the stuffing. Not with his parents sitting opposite him looking like they had something very serious they needed to say.

They were intimidating people sometimes. Alex loved his parents and knew they had stood by him through a lot of rough times, and although he was an adult now—technically—they still scared him when they sat on the couch that way. They held one another, supportive and loving but very… grown up.

This was how they punished him as a child. He had always preferred his dad's belt to his parents' combined disappointment.

They lived in a normal, quiet house on a normal, quiet street. The neighbors’ son was in boy scouts, his ma made casseroles when a neighbor's relative died, just that morning Alex had mowed the lawn. Very normal. Very suburban. In the normal living room of a normal house on a normal street in a normal neighborhood, a very un-normal person braced for bad news.

"I'm still looking for a job," he said. "I know it's been a while."

It had been a few years since Cuba. He tried to stay, at first. He didn't want to abandon Charles—but Charles wanted to be abandoned. When the war claimed too many teachers and students from the school, it broke something in Charles. He didn't exactly tell Alex to leave. No, he said it with far more hurtful, condescending words as only Charles could, while Hank stood by looking apologetic.

"Oh, we know," his mother assured him.

"It's not about that, son."

Alex realized how old they were. He realized it because he shuffled through memories of sitting here for wrenching life lessons. He was too old, too big, and too strong to be spanked. He was, he realized, stronger than his father. Both his ma and dad were both graying, the skin looser on their faces. They were… older.

Which is why it came as such a surprise when his ma followed up with, "Alex—sweetheart—you know we always wanted to have a large family."

Oh yes. He knew. A Catholic family with only one kid? Who ever heard of it?!

"Is this about grandchildren?" he asked.

Lately he had heard a few hints that it would be nice for his parents to see a grandbaby sometime before they died.

"Not exactly," his dad said.

"We're going to have a baby."

For a moment, Alex just stared. "You're—trying?" And that was a mental image his mind could just shut right down!

"Four months along," his dad said.

Alex understood without being told. It wasn't the first pregnancy since he was born, but he knew none of them lasted past the first trimester. Of course his parents hadn't told him until they felt more certain this one would—for lack of a better word—survive.

"Congratulations!" That was the right thing to say at a time like this. It wasn't quite real for Alex that his parents were having another baby.

Apparently his parents saw his indifference, because his ma said, "You'll finally be a big brother."

"From the looks of the ultrasound, you're going to have a sister," his dad said.

"We've been thinking about names."

"We like Stephanie or Jessica, what do you think?"

They were quiet for a moment before Alex realized a response was requested. Names? Stephanie or Jessica? He was supposed to have an opinion about Stephanie or Jessica? He had known a Jessica once. She had a talented mouth, and he didn't mean she was a gifted orator.

_Your baby sister!_

"Uh, Stephanie," he managed. "Definitely Stephanie."


	2. Chapter Two

Alex hurried through the halls of the hospital, dodging nurses, patients, unfortunately placed chairs… well, the chairs were against the wall, but right now they were in the way.

He was late!

This was bad. He'd been trying to put himself back together—he'd held down his current job for almost six months and for him that was something. When he came home to find his parents gone, he knew immediately what had happened.

He paused in front of another nurses' station. This hospital was a damn maze!

"Summers?" he asked.

A nurse with green scrubs and an unfortunate bouffant reached for a chart, then glanced back at him.

"She's my mother."

The nurse nodded and reached again for the chart. "Room 203."

"Thanks." He started to leave, then turned back.

"That way and up the stairs."

"Thanks." Alex once more started to leave and once more turned back. "Groovy hairstyle," he offered with a cheeky grin. The nurse smiled back.

Alex hurried upstairs and along the hallway. When he reached room 203, he didn't knock. He just pushed open the door and stepped in.

"Ma?"

His mother sat up in bed, disheveled but smiling. Alex let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He didn't need to worry, really. But he did. This sibling business had become so real as he helped paint the walls pastel purple, helped build the Ikea crib, learned not to laugh at the word nipple, and realized… women his mother’s age did not have babies. There were complications. Risks.

She was all right now.

She motioned him over.

Alex leaned down to kiss his mother's cheek, then glanced at the end of the bed. The thing in the plastic bed-bin-thing was mostly wrapped in a white blanket with a tiny blue hat on its head. Only a face showed, red and wrinkly.

He grinned. Half breathless, he said, "How is she?"

" _She_ surprised us all."

"But she’s okay?"

His—their—ma smiled. "You have a brother, Alex."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "You can pick him up. Remember to support his head, his neck isn't very strong yet."

Alex took a step toward the plastic container. It truly looked like a giant leftovers container. Sure, he hadn't been thrilled to learn his ma was pregnant, and the baby still might prove to be disabled, that was a risk at his parents' age, but Alex was still excited to be a big brother.

He hesitated. He couldn't stop smiling, but he had to pause.

She smiled at him as she stood. She walked awkwardly, but he imagined a woman would after—that was all he cared to imagine!

"Like this," she said, making a cradle with her arms.

Alex felt silly, but he imitated her.

His ma lifted the red-faced runt and placed him in Alex's arms. The baby was surprisingly heavy and warm through the blanket. Soft, like he barely had bones under his pudgy skin. This was the smallest, newest human being Alex had ever seen.

"Hey," he said. "Hey—Stephen?"

"Scott," his ma supplied.

He felt himself grinning like an idiot, though he had no idea why. "Hey, Scott," Alex murmured, and he could have sworn the baby's wide, unfocused eyes settled on him for just a moment. "Hey, buddy."

Alex was no stranger to feelings of dominance. He had been in enough fights to know the feeling of power over another person. He knew the feeling of knowing you could destroy them. Now he felt something similar, but utterly different. A feather could destroy this little guy… but Alex would never let that happen.

Not in a million years.


	3. Chapter Three

After sixteen months, Alex knew there were limits to how much he loved his brother. He didn't mind coaxing the squalling little monster into taking a bottle. He would read him stories at night. He had learned how to change diapers, although he would find any excuse to avoid it, including pretend not to notice some very noticeable smells.

By now he was used to coming home to a house with a baby in it. He hadn't expected to live with his parents this long, at first thought Scott meant he needed to move out sooner. Instead of leaving, Alex got used to having his the miniature person around. He was used to the faint smell of sour milk and waking up at 2a.m. When a baby starts crying, there's no sleeping through it. Especially not in the room next to the nursery.

"Hey, Ma!" Alex called.

She called back to him from upstairs.

Toys scattered across the living room. And most of the house, really. Alex carefully navigated the room. His parents asked him to pick up a few things on the way home. He was currently balancing a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, bread, a lemon… he didn't remember all of it. Ma made a list so he wouldn't need to.

Scott was playing with one block and chewing another. He paused when he saw Alex and smiled around the block still in his mouth.

Alex smiled back. "Yeah, hey," he agreed. He would be less terse once he had put these groceries away.

Too many things happened at once. Scott was reaching for something else and Alex tried to avoid one of his dad's books (he would pick that up); he looked toward the kitchen when the phone rang…

And his foot landed on something.

And it cracked.

Alex had heard gunshots that terrified him less than that crack and the feeling of something snapping under his shoe. He had a power in his body that could kill people and this was worse. He had stood on the beach and watched nuclear missiles approaching and this scared him more.

A horrifying, stunned silence filled the room.

Scott whimpered and began to cry.

"No, no, no." Alex dropped everything on the coffee table and scooped up the baby. The eggs fell and cracked. "Let me see." Was this what a panic attack felt like? He did not lose his cool—not usually, no, but now. He felt something warm in his chest, a threat of his power—he tried to calm himself, knowing it would banish the energy. His power wouldn't help right now.

He stretched out each of Scott's tiny fingers. Scott had been on the floor and something cracked under Alex’s shoe—he had been on the floor—but each finger was intact. His feet were okay, too. You didn't look at toes with a baby; they were about as big as peas, Alex definitely hadn't stepped on one of those.

Scott was still crying, but Alex couldn't find anything broken.

It was a plastic rattle.

Alex had stepped on and broken a rattle.

He felt his power calming at the realization. "Okay. Okay. I'll clean up and this stays between us. Deal? Shake on it," Alex instructed. He took Scott's tiny hand and shook. Then he hugged him. Hugging a baby is a little like hugging a stuffed animal, warm and soft alive and able to love you back, a mix of juvenile comfort and unquestioning love.

"I almost broke you." It was the one thing Alex had sworn he would never do. All the stupid fights he had been in, all the people he had disappointed or cussed out or punched; his baby brother would never be on the list of the people Alex Summers hurt. "I'm so sorry."


	4. Chapter Four

Alex slept sitting upright on the plane home from Vietnam. The army's mutant unit had been unsettling. The others had been unsettled, too, and Alex had to be stronger—because he had been part of a unit before. They called it the X-Men, but it had been a mutant unit.

The unit. Raven. Raven without Erik, no Charles, no word… Alex was tired of being frozen out. Charles kicked him out, the army kicked him out, Raven had saved him but there had been no recognition of the friendship he thought they had between them.

Mostly, he was just tired.

So Alex slept on the plane home. He slept on the bus back to Ohio. He walked to his parents' house and he wanted to just collapse in his bed.

He rang the bell instead of using the key hidden in the flower pot, and hugged his ma while she cried into his shirt. "Good to see you, too."

He dropped his stuff and took a shower. Hot water kept washing the suds off him as he stood under the showerhead for more and more minutes. He dressed in civilian clothes and was debating between a plaid shirt or his leather jacket when his ma popped into the room.

"Give me your laundry. I'll toss it in later. I need to go pick up Scott for lunch—peanut butter for you, too?"

It was unnervingly normal being back home. The soft clothes and utter lack of mugginess made him feel like a different person. So why was the ache still in him?

Alex pulled on the plaid shirt. "Can we have grilled cheese?"

"There's not time for—sure. Of course you can."

"I can pick him up."

"Sweetie… you just got home."

"I'm not takin' him for pho in Ho Chi Minh City. I'm bringing him home for grilled cheese."

There was another factor, of course.

Alex carried the rejection as he marched down to Edison Elementary. He was in the habit of marching. When he arrived early, he just stood and he waited, apart from all the moms waiting to pick up their children. Edison looked just like it had when he was a student here: white-washed walls and red brick stairs, hedges and a flagpole surrounded by grass.

It was all so normal. Alex couldn't help but wonder if any of the mothers hid the same secret he did, if any their children would one day need to. Were there any mutants here?

The door squeaked as a teacher pushed it open and a herd of students boiled out. They skipped and ran to their mothers, beginning to babble about their mornings. Scott stood out from the rest, both for the bruise under his eye how loudly he shouted when he realized Ma wasn't here.

" _ALEX!_ "

That was what he wanted. That utter devotion and love—because it pushed out the rejection. Seven years ago, Alex held his newborn brother and promised to protect him. Scott repaid him with affection. Right now that meant wrapping around his legs.

"Hey, buddy. You want to let go?"

"Nuh."

Scott doubled down, plunking onto the floor so he could wrap both arms and legs around Alex.

"Scott."

Alex tried to wriggle him off without doing harm.

"You gotta get off me so we can go home."

No luck.

"Piggyback ride?"

Like a magic key, the words unlocked Scott's death-grip. Alex crouched to let him climb aboard.


	5. Chapter Five

Seven years ago, Alex sat in the padded armchair, looking at his parents sitting together on the couch, wondering if he was in trouble. That was the day they told him they were having a baby. Alex had never thought he would love someone who puked on him.

This time when Alex sat in the armchair opposite his parents, he knew he _was_ in trouble. He had barely been home from Vietnam for a heartbeat, just long enough to sleep in his own bed and wake up to a seven-year-old jumping on him.

Now his parents once more sat opposite him, leaning on one another. Something had happened…

Alex glanced out the window. Scott was playing in the yard. Alex had offered to teach him to fight—rather insisted, since if Scott was going to get into fights he should know how to get out of them. Was he in trouble for that?

It was so strange to think about—because everything had changed. Hank's picture made the paper. Erik decided to levitate a stadium. Mutants were on everyone's tongue.

A moment later he realized the implication.

No…

"Those people on the news," his ma begins. "They were… your friends?"

Alex nodded. "Some of them." He wouldn't exactly call Erik a friend, but Charles and Hank had been there.

"Are you one of them?"

There's no way for that not to hurt, the feeling of being suddenly exorcised from your family—made one of _them_ instead of one of _us_.

He kept it quiet his whole life. Yes, he was one of them, and as he confirmed it he knew his parents were recalling all the inexplicable incidents, the destruction that marred his young life, and realizing exactly what he was capable of.

His dad cleared his throat.

"Your mother and I have decided it would be best for you to find your own place, at least for a while," he said. It hit Alex like a hard, slow punch to the gut. "We feel it would be the best thing. You're old enough now."

Old enough? Yeah, but it seemed like five minutes ago he was their son returning a hero from the Vietnam War. He hadn't felt like much of a hero then, but they had been proud of him.

"Ma?"

She couldn't even look at him.

Alex looked back to the front yard. Scott was trying to lift a snowball to make snowman's midsection, but it was too big for him.

"Then you understand, Alex," his dad said, and Alex felt a flash of anger like he hadn't known in years. "You're an adult. We have to think of your brother."

"I would never hurt Scott." The words sounded weak even to Alex. He wouldn't, but accusation had knocked the fight out of him. What was the point in arguing with his own parents who believed he would harm a child?

He wasn't their son anymore.

"I'll go pack."


	6. Chapter Six

Scott wasn't a little kid anymore.

His ma ought to have known that. He didn't remember the day he was born, but he would bet she did! Besides, the number of candles said as much.

"Make a wish, sweetheart."

He was too old for wishes, but he closed his eyes anyway. He counted to five and pretended. Then he blew out the candles on his birthday cake and became, officially, thirteen years old.

More importantly, cake. Birthdays could easily become non-events when you didn't have any friends, but his parents did their best. It was kind of sad, but that didn't make the cake any less sweet. His ma had made it with blue frosting, Scott’s favorite color.

He already knew what his birthday presents were, but he tore into them excitedly nonetheless. There was a card, too, which he ignored. "A soccer ball, cool! Thanks!"

"There's a book there, too, Scotty."

"Right—thanks for that, too."

He meant it, but his parents' efforts to turn his attention to his education were overshadowed by the ball. He did like to read, really. His ma sent him outside to play, knowing the futility of trying to make a now-teenage boy sit still for five minutes.

Three days later, most of the birthday had been cleared away. Scott's soccer ball no longer looked new from hours being kicked against the back fence and dribbled across the yard; the book had been put on the floor next to his bed with the best of intentions and a bookmark a few dozen pages in.

The card still sat unopened on the counter.

His ma came down one morning to find him at the kitchen table, eating the last slice of cake for breakfast. He didn't do that, usually. For the past five birthdays, he insisted on saving the last piece until it was inedible. Until there was no chance of someone coming to eat it because it was hard as a rock.

He even had a name for it.

"That's Alex's piece," his ma reminded him.

Scott shrugged, licked frosting off his lip, and said, "He's not coming back for it." He said it with pure venom.

Alex's absence had never been adequately explained to him. All Scott knew was that he had a brother who he remembered loving, but who screwed off one day and never come back.

His ma gave him a sad look. "He sent you a card."

A card. Alex always sent a card on his birthday and something really cool at Christmas. Scott wasn't sure why. He would have preferred that when Alex screwed off, he screwed off entirely.

"I don't want it."

"Scott—"

He pushed back from the table, scraping his chair against the floor, and dropped his dish in the sink. "I gotta go, anyway. Y'know. School."


	7. Chapter Seven

Alex lived one town over from his parents, so when his dad called and said he'd like to meet up, it was easy enough to arrange. Logistically, anyway. One town was distance enough with the freeway between them and they agreed to meet at a roughly midway point, a greasy spoon that served its coffee thick as tar.

Alex knew, because he had a cup of said tar in front of him. He kept his eyes on the entrance. When his dad arrived, Alex wanted to spot him before he spotted Alex.

He took a sip of coffee, poured a steady stream of sugar, and tried it again. Sweet tar.

Alex drank it slowly as he waited. There was a flask, a sweet break tucked into an inside jacket pocket…

"What's this about, Dad?"

"You could let me sit down first."

"Yeah, I could."

He had been kicked out of his home for being born wrong, and it never stopped hurting. At first he had been lost, barely had enough money for a place to live, but when his emotions cost him a job, Charles had welcomed him while he put the pieces back together. Again. It was Charles who helped him over the years, Charles who gave him a home and acceptance—things his parents denied him for being a mutant.

He tried not to wonder… would Charles care so much if Alex were human?

Alex spoke to his parents occasionally. They always had his number, told him everything was fine, they were fine, Scott was fine. He supposed he might have asked their help paying rent, but he didn't want it. They had made clear that he wasn't family.

His dad took a deep breath.

"What your mother and I did—we know it was wrong, Alex. You're our son, that should have mattered more than this…" his dad glanced around and dropped his voice: "…mutant issue."

 _Mutant issue._ He'd heard the term before. It made him remember that in 1962, the U.S. government agreed with the Soviets, even at the height of the Cold War, and fired an arsenal of missiles at people who had only tried to help them. Who _had_ helped them.

So he didn't care for the term 'mutant issue', but at least is dad was willing to meet with him in person, right?

"I know. But thanks for saying it."

"How have you been?"

"I'm doing okay."

"Where are you working these days?"

"The rec center. Assistant activities director."

"That's good."

"Mhm."

And Alex didn't need his dad to tell him so. He was proud enough of himself. He knew he was doing well not only because he had a job he liked which allowed him to live comfortably, but because he maintained healthy relationships. He could hold a conversation without calling Hank "Bozo" or mentioning Charles's bald spot. He was, in fact, an okay man.

Although really that had started more than a decade ago…

When his dad invited him over for Sunday dinner, Alex wondered who needed a kidney transplant. He kept that to himself and accepted the invitation.

"But, Alex—now, you can talk to your mother and me about anything."

He knew what was coming. That didn't make it hurt less when his father concluded:

"We don't want Scott knowing what you are."


	8. Chapter Eight

Scott took one look at Alex and stomped upstairs to his room. Their dad called after him and Scott replied with a string of obscenities Alex wasn't sure he had even known at thirteen and a half.

"He doesn't mean that," their ma said.

"Of course," Alex assured her. "A person can't do all those things at one time, and where would we find a live duck in this neighborhood?"

Despite his brother's notable absence, Alex sat down to a pleasant evening with his parents. They had a lot to catch up on (still no grandchildren, though…).

The house looked similar. Alex didn't think the furniture had moved an inch in twenty years. The biggest change was a cloth over the coffee table. The same pictures sat in frames, a little more crowded now.

He chatted with them, caught up, and headed home.

This carried for a few weeks, a pleasant routine broken only by the silent glares every time he saw Scott.

Until the night Alex knocked over a cup of coffee. His ma hurried for a towel in the kitchen, instructing Alex to just clear everything away but leave the tablecloth.

Alex cleared everything quickly enough, but leaving the cloth seemed silly. He lifted it.

"Huh."

There was an envelope. He recognized the handwriting as his own, addressed to Scott. Alex tried to pick it up. It wouldn’t budge. He tried to think of reasons a 13-year-old would glue a birthday card to the table, and came up with 'because he is Scott'.

He heard his ma's footsteps returning and hastily smoothed the cloth.

"Would it be all right if I talked to Scott?"

"Oh… you can try," his ma allowed, "but Scott's a handful these days. He doesn't really come out of his room."

"Ever?"

She sighed. "He goes to school."

"I thought he played baseball."

"He used to. Alex, whatever he says—your brother loves you."

Alex nodded, steeled himself like he was stepping into the jungle in Vietnam, and headed upstairs.

"Scott, it's Alex. Can I come in?"

He had to ask a few times before Scott realized Alex wouldn't go away and said okay. So Alex headed into the bedroom. It was tidy, which surprised him. The bed was unmade and had several books beside the pillow, and the desk was far from orderly, but aside from that. Scott was sprawled on the bed, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it as it fell.

Alex took a seat at the desk, turning the chair to face Scott. "So."

"Yup."

"I missed you, buddy."

The baseball thudded into Scott’s palm and he tossed it into the air again. "Coulda come back."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Ma and Dad said you'd redeployed. That's bull, right?"

Alex sighed. His brother was no fool. Deployment wouldn't have taken him away for six years. Maybe it worked for the seven-year-old, but for the teenager in front of him, Alex needed to tell the truth.

"It's bull."

Or rather, he needed to say something true. The truth was not an option.

"Where were you?"

That was more complicated.

"I can't take back the past six years, Scott, but I'm here now."

"You're not here if you're still lying to me!"

"I'm not lying!"

"Screw yourself, you're a goddamn liar!"

"Fine! Up means down, the sky is red, touchin' yourself will make you blind!"

Scott stared for a moment, startled into silence. Then he rallied his tough exterior and asked again, "Where were you?" _What was so much more important than me?_

Instead of answering, Alex suggested, "You want to get out of this room? We could take a walk."

"Nah."

"Mariella's is still in business, isn't it? You want an ice cream cone?"

"No."

"Right. You want yours in a cup so you can have sprinkles."

For the first time since Alex arrived, Scott stopped tossing his ball at the ceiling. He propped himself up on one elbow, taking a real look at his brother.

"I used to save a piece of birthday cake for you. You never came back. Where were you? What was going on that was so important you couldn't come home for one day?"

"I sent cards." Even he knew that was pathetic.

"I know. I started to hate 'em because it meant you weren't coming back."

"I'm really sorry, Scott."

Scott scoffed. "No, you're not."

"I am."

"Nope."

"Y—" Alex realized he was starting to argue like a child. He was an adult, though, and while he didn't need to be a parent, he saw that an apology wouldn't do. Words wouldn't make Scott give him a second chance.

So Alex strode over and hauled him up by the front of his shirt.

"I am sorry, you little shit, now put your goddamn shoes on and let's get some ice cream."

Scott stared at him for a moment, not the usual glower but a look of utter shock. Then he laughed. "Let me go and I'll get my sneakers."


	9. Chapter Nine

Alex became a reliable figure in Scott's life. He wasn't always around but he was there for what mattered.

Answering questions about talking to girls, and offering sympathy when Scott was invariably shot down.

Walking him to school in the morning when their parents realized he was ditching.

And, of course, for Christmas presents, Thanksgiving dinner, and birthday cake. Scott had tried to throw Easter into the mix but Alex said just because misery loved company didn't mean he was going to Mass.

Scott's parents had long ago lost the ability to control him. When Alex was growing up, the options were disappointment or being spanked with a belt—but Alex's misbehavior was more about exuberance and a short temper. Scott's represented a deliberate disrespect bordering on hatred for authority and if his parents had tried addressing that with physical punishment, they both knew things would escalate.

So it was Alex who talked to him about anything serious. All the adult Summerses understood that it was the best way to influence Scott's behavior. They didn't know why he had turned so angry when he was fifteen, only that Alex could reach him when their parents couldn't. As he routinely claimed to hate them, that was often.

"I don't know," Scott said as he and Alex walked home. He was sixteen now and nearly as tall as his brother, but Alex had taken his backpack anyway. "There was some… they were fund-raising for a scholarship."

"So someone wrote _that_ on the school wall?"

 _SCREW MUTIES AND SPECIES TRAITORS._ Only it didn't say "screw". The words were splashed across the school wall in unsteady black paint.

"It was a mutant scholarship," Scott explained. "It was a scholarship for mutants."

Alex nodded like it made sense, although Scott wasn't sure it did. He knew people hated mutants. He didn't get why, but didn't really care, either.

"Do you believe that, Scott?"

He shrugged. "I guess mutants do have an advantage, right? Being able to fly and stuff."

Sean had been able to fly—and Alex would grant, Sean had done better academically than he had, but had never gone to college. Angel definitely had not. Meanwhile Charles, who was very much earthbound, was a professor.

Alex realized a moment later that Charles had been crippled after college. Not that it was relevant.

Back to Scott's argument:

"How's that an advantage for college?"

"Well it," Scott began, and abruptly stopped. "I'm not sure. It seems cool but I don't know how practical it is. I don't know. It's not that hard to pay for college, is it?"

"You're asking me?"

Scott was going to be the first person in their family to go to college.

Alex had been the first person in their family to go to Asia. Their dad had been to Europe for similar reasons.

Scott shrugged again. He didn't know about any of this, and as he pointed out, "The whole thing is moot for me. I don't want to go to college."

Alex wouldn't like it. He had encouraged Scott more than once in the opposite direction: that college was good for him. He had a 3.8 despite his behavior issues.

Predictably, Alex said, "You should think harder about that."

"I hate school and I hate the people in school, why would I pay for an extra four years?"

"College is different."

Scott shook his head. "I _hate_ school," he repeated emphatically. Alex hadn't heard the first time. "I hate it, Alex. The only reason I'd give to that scholarship fund-raiser is if I didn't like mutants and wanted one to suffer."

"Did you give anything?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably.

"It wasn't like that. Yes," he admitted. "Ma asked me to."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Apocalypse begin in this chapter

The drive home was quiet. Scott knew what he was, he had figured that out about the time his eyes exploded. About the time he wrecked the school bathroom and the pain slicing into his head made him scream. They made him sit in the nurse's office until a parent could come pick him up and he heard the hushed murmurs, felt their glances.

It was clear. Thanks. He was a freak. Message received.

He remembered learning what mutants were. He was seven years old and his parents explained that there were some people—in big cities, mostly the coasts—who had special powers.

He had asked if it was like in cartoons.

He had asked if they could move to New York so he could be a superhero.

He had been sent to bed without supper.

It even showed up on the classroom wall, written messily in crayon: _When I grow up I want to be a mutint or a puppy._ He had drawn a picture of a puppy.

By the time he was seventeen, that was all forgotten. No, he realized what mutants really were, what it really meant. Mutants were people who were forced out of the military, asked to leave shops, and mentioned in obscene graffiti.

His dad tried to say something on the drive home from school.

"Scott—"

"Don't."

"You—"

"Just _don't_."

Was it supposed to be like this? His eyes still hurt and he could feel the energy punching against his eyelids, struggling to break free. He didn't know if he would ever see again.

When they got home, he fell three times trying to reach his room. His dad tried to help him, but Scott didn't want anyone around right now. He disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door.

After that, his life was defined by conversations.

Not conversations he had, of course, the closest he came was shouting obscenities through the door.

But he heard.

He heard his dad on the phone:

"No, I don't see how that's a problem…. He's had problems with that boy before…. No? I remember a few things! I remember my kid being stuffed in a locker, I remember him coming home with bruises—… now a boy's not allowed to defend himself?… No, you listen! You're trying to turn this into a problem with Scott's behavior when his only problems come from your school having the most pathetic honors program in the damn state. Smart kids get bored. Haven't you dealt with a smart kid before?…"

By the end of it, Scott was pretty sure he had been kicked out of school. Gee, _tragedy_. But he had to admit, it was kind of… nice… to hear his dad talk about him that way.

And his parents, later:

"How is he?"

"I don't know."

"The school?"

"Probably expelling him. That was never the right place for Scott, anyway."

"We need—we need an expert."

Oh.

Improvement.

Now he was seeing a shrink!

Scott pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to outright cry at what a craphill his life had become.

He only left to use the bathroom, an embarrassing endeavor made even worse when he realized he'd need to sit down to pee, missed, and fell on the floor with his pants around his knees.

And then made even worse by his ma knocking on the door and asking if he needed any help in there.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Alex hated the distance his mutation put between himself and his family. He hated that he couldn't tell the truth, that he couldn't tell them where he went and had to lie about Charles, Hank, and the school.

_Be careful what you wish for._

He wanted his family to understand, but not like this.

Scott laid on his bed, blankets twisted around his fists. He had a scarf wrapped twice over his eyes and tied. There were visible tracks on his face: he had been crying. Alex shouldn't have waited until the next day.

"Hey, buddy."

"Alex."

The kid sound broken. Alex didn't blame him.

He sighed and grabbed the desk chair. "Want to tell me what happened?"

Scott shook his head. "I can't see. I'm scared to go to sleep. They're going to send me away to some facility."

Facility.

Alex wondered how their parents had explained the school. Until today were only passingly aware that Alex knew someone who had a place for people like them. Like him… or Scott. Alex had played it off until then, like Charles was just a friend who really didn't mind people crashing on his couch—not that he was a professor and mutant philanthropist.

"Being a mutant isn't the end of the world, Scott."

"How do you know?" Scott demanded. Alex stayed silent until he found the answer for himself. "You never told me."

"What's your gift?"

Scott replied with one finger on either hand.

"Hate to break it to you but everyone has that gift."

"It's not a gift. I open my eyes and they explode, it sucks."

"Does the scarf help?" Alex asked.

He couldn't explain why he never told Scott the truth. It meant admitting that their dad had sat him down and made him agree that wouldn't speak a word about it in trade for seeing his family again. It meant admitting he agreed.

Meanwhile they had Scott's apparently uncontrolled power to worry about.

"It blocks the light," Scott explained.

Alex had to admit, that was decent logic. Scott would be tempted to open his eyes as a reaction to light, so he found a way to block it out.

"Hang on. Let me get you something less bulky."

He found the bandage in the medicine cabinet. Wide and thick, it would replace the scarf nicely.

"Got it. Sit up. Keep your eyes closed."

Alex unwound the scarf. When it fell away, Scott gasped and flinched, genuinely afraid of himself. But he kept his eyes closed as Alex bandaged his eyes.

"Better?"

Scott nodded. The bandages did the same basic job, but without the bulk or awkward weight of the scarf. At least now he was sitting up instead of shivering and useless.

"This facility Ma and Dad want to send you to, it's not what you think. It's a school for mutants. It's run by mutants, people who can help you control your gift. Better education, too, people smarter than I can keep up with. The principal is a friend of mine." Alex knew Charles didn't use that term, but he couldn't say 'headmaster' without snickering. "He helped me, too."

"He helped you _period_ ," Scott replied. "He hasn't done anything for me."

Yet.

"His name's Charles Xavier."

"That's a weird name."

"He's a weird guy. Look—listen," Alex amended, catching Scott's expression. Looking was pretty out of the question. "I know this is scary. If you want to stay at home, we can try to make it work, and I'm not going to force you to leave. If you agree to try the school, I'll take you there myself. I'll stay a few days, until you're settled, and if you hate it you can come home or stay with me."

Scary was an understatement. Scott had gotten himself into trouble before. He had been in fights where the odds told him he couldn't win—and that was what made him able to face this. When he knew a beating was coming, he spared his pride the only way he could: by mouthing off. Proving his intellectual superiority.

Right now the world was spinning. His stomach was in knots, his mouth was dry, and his eyes were just begging him to let loose and cry. Or let loose and explode things. All he knew for sure was that his parents had betrayed him—betrayed Alex.

So Scott put on an annoyed face—he didn't have a brave face to rely on—and said, "Whatever."

Because what else could he say? All he wanted to do was hide in his room like a child, stay where he was safe. He wasn't a child, though, and Alex was the one person he trusted. The one person it was safe to love.

Alex chatted while he packed a bag for Scott, everything from describing how much trouble his own mutation caused before Charles Xavier found him, to every way New York was more interesting than Ohio, to where were Scott's girlie mags because they should probably pack those too. (Scott didn't respond to that last one.)

"We're ready to go, Scott. You need to say good-bye."

"You said you'd take me."

"I will. Ma and Dad?"

Scott shook his head.

Alex sighed. "Do it."

Scott swore at him.

"Scott, you need to do this. Take it from a guy who knows about not saying goodbye. Do it for me, buddy. Please."

Scott worked his jaw, clearly seeking an argument. Then he nodded. His blind efforts to hug them were awkward, but he let his parents hold him a while. He told them he loved them.

Alex had to guide Scott to the car with hands on his shoulders and warnings for every stair.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex references Mars Men; those are Sour Patch Kids. They weren't called Sour Patch Kids until 1985.

Ohio to New York was a long drive. They took a break two hours down I-76. The car needed fuel to make it the rest of the way—"And so do I," Alex said, using a key as a bottle-opener.

"Is that beer?"

"I'm not an idiot. Here."

He guided his brother's hand to the bottle and managed not to snicker when Scott just barely avoided splashing Coke down his front. Not that anyone else was allowed to laugh at him like that.

"Thanks."

Well, look at Scott, dusting off his manners!

"I also got some M&M's, Mars Men, and sunglasses."

"Sunglasses?"

"When we get there, Charles will want to see your power. Sounds like I'll need the sunglasses."

They leaned against the car, the metal uncomfortably hot but worth it for a breath of fresh air—albeit a breath of fresh air outside a gas station mini-mart.

"Will we be there soon?" Scott asked. Maybe he wanted to sound bored, but Alex heard the nerves in his voice.

"We're still hours from Westchester," Alex said. He used to think the name was funny—Westchester, on the East Coast—until Charles explained that Chester was a city in England. Way to ruin the joke, England!

"Shouldn't we go?"

"Dunno about you, but I'm going to take a few minutes here." He had been driving a while and it would take a very persuasive argument to convince Alex Summers that he didn't have time to drink his damn soda. A wise man did not stand between Alex and caffeine.

Scott had known Alex long enough not to bother arguing. After a while, he asked, "Do we still talk to Ma and Dad?"

"Of course we still talk to them."

"Even though we're…"

"Even though," Alex confirmed.

"They kicked you out because of it, didn't they?"

He sighed and shook his head. "It's not that simple."

"Now they're getting rid of me, too."

"I told them to send you to New York," Alex said. Trying to explain about Charles was pointless; he was the sort of man you needed to meet for yourself. "To help you."

"I don't need help."

Of course not.

"They're trying to help you and they don't know how, so they asked me. They're not mutants. I am. And Charles… he's the best of the best. It's part of growing up, realizing your parents don't always know what's best. They try."

"Yeah, well, they sure didn't get it right with you."

"So they stepped back with you! Most parents don't know what to do about having a mutant child. You should be grateful yours care enough to let you go."

"Aw, screw them, anyway. They're bad parents."

"Right," Alex said, "they beat you. They didn't feed you. They locked you up in the basement and—"

"You know they didn't do any of that. They just…"

"They do their best, Scott. Ma and Dad messed up a lot, I know, but they do love us and they have done their best. Besides, you don't get to be mad over what they did to me. They did it to me and I've forgiven them."

Forgiven but not forgotten, and Alex still did not like to talk about it. The only way to have a family again was to learn to forgive, but it didn't erase the years. It still hurt.

"But I lost you."

That voice cut right into his heart. Alex still remembered Scott, as a kid, waking him up. Scott whispering because it was a secret:

_"Ma said not to wake you."_

_"So why're you wakin' me, then?"_

_"Can you take me to school? Please PLEASE Alex?"_

He pushed himself off the car. "Give me the bottle."

Both soda bottles were empty now, so Alex tossed them in the trash. In the time he was gone, Scott managed to sit in the car and buckle his seatbelt. He was adjusting to the blindness.

"My gift—"

"Stop calling it that."

"You'll want to get used to it. Charles will let you call it an ability, but he always says gift. My gift is a lot like yours. It's destructive and it's scary, and Ma and Dad just got scared. They were afraid—everyone's afraid of mutants. You were just a little kid. They thought they were protecting you."

Alex had turned the ideas over and over and inside out so many times he knew them like his own hands. And yes, it hurt that his parents had looked at him and seen a mutant instead of their own son, but he understood. He had to. The longer he held onto anger, the more it hurt—and the more it affected his control over his gift.

And, ultimately, forgiveness was what Charles advised.

Alex did not believe his parents only welcomed him back because of Scott. He knew that was part of it. At thirteen, Scott had already been out of control. He was smart, mouthy, and prone to fights. So their parents called in the cavalry because they believed Alex could help his brother—and because they missed their son.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Before he left, Alex lost his temper.

"This is gonna look wrong," Scott said.

Ohio to New York was about a twelve-hour drive. They could have made it in one day and arrived in the middle of the night. Instead they stopped at a Motel 6 in the middle of Pennsylvania.

Scott continued, "You're sneaking a blindfolded teenage boy into your cheap hotel room."

"Your hands aren't tied, you're fine," Alex retorted, closing the curtains.

"You're not helping."

"No one stays in a hotel with the curtains open."

"Let's set a trend."

"Everyone wants to copy a coupl'a guys from the suburbs of Ohio. I'm going to get something to eat. The bathroom is at the back of the room, on the right. Do you want the TV on?"

"I'm not a dog, Alex."

"Nope. You're my prisoner. But I'm a nice captor, you can listen to Looney Tunes."

Alex turned on the TV and flipped through channels. Two sales channels, one televangelist, the news…

"You want the news?"

"I want to not be a mutant."

"Okay. No news." He turned off the TV.

Scott found one of the beds and sat down. That was basically what he could do. He could sit there. He had learned that he could blink—but while most people blinked by closing their eyes for a second, Scott blinked by opening his eyes. But that was all. They started to burn…

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

He had his hand on the doorknob when Scott asked, "Hey Alex?"

"Yeah."

"You can tell me the truth now."

"I have told you the truth."

"I mean the real truth. Just tell me, okay? If you're ditching me here or taking me to some kind of nuthouse or, I don't know, killing me—"

"Shut up, Scott."

"Just tell me!"

"I have told you! I'm taking you to a school—"

"There aren't real places like that! I won't run away or anything, just tell me! Is it—do they drug you or sterilize you or just kill you?"

"How can you—I'm a mutant, too, you idiot!"

"You say you are but I don't know—"

"You do know! You know because I'm your brother, because I don't lie to you—you think I could do that? Take you to be… I can't look at you right now."

He slammed the door behind him.

Alone, Scott listened. There was a digital clock that ticked as the hour switched. He heard cars on the highway. Someone rattled a vending machine…

And he was alone.

He tried to remember the sound of Alex's car. If he could pick out the engine, he would know if he heard it leave. Then he would… he wasn't sure. Something. Meanwhile he listened to a family as they arrived next door. He gathered that they were on a road trip, that there was a mom and dad and three kids. The parents shushed the kids, reminding them that there were people next door. Scott didn't mind.

After a while, he started to think Alex really had forgotten about him. He was almost surprised when the door opened.

Scott quickly sat up, aware that it was probably—possibly—his brother, that he didn't know. He couldn't see. And he couldn't disguise the fear in his voice as he asked, "Alex?"

"It's me." Alex didn't sound mad anymore. He sounded tired. "Here." He dropped a bag on the bed next to Scott. "You're only sleeping in that bed for one night, so go nuts leaving crumbs."

Scott smiled feebly. Their ma was a big fan of Not Leaving Crumbs. Crumbs attract ants and she did not want ants in her house!

He pulled the bag open. "Thanks."

Their ma was also not a huge fan of junk food, making the McDonald's burger a perk of not being able to look anyone in the eyes ever again for the rest of his life.

For a while, they ate in silence. Then Alex said, "I was about your age. And I couldn't control it either. When I was mad, this energy just… jumped out of me. Mutation wasn't widely known then. I didn't know there were other people like me, I just knew if I lost my temper, people got hurt. I started getting into fights on purpose because I did less harm with my fists. Got into a lot of trouble. I had to be alone. I was in prison for a while, mostly in secure housing—what you'd call solitary confinement.

"Solitary confinement is hell, Scott. You barely have the space to breathe. You're alone with nothing but cinder block walls. But if I was there, people were safe from me. I couldn't see past the immediate; I had to limit myself to just protecting the people around me.

"One day my cell door opens and all I can think is, already? I'm miserable in that hole, but it's where I belong. But instead of the guards, there are two civilians. One of them looked—imagine if a man walked into your school, into that civics class you always get kicked out of—and this man is barely old enough to shave, wearing a tweed suit, he's English and tells you he works for the CIA."

Scott scoffed.

"Yeah, my feelings exactly. I went with Charles because he took me out of prison and I warned him how dangerous I was. Charles helped me, and it wasn't an easy road. I didn't make it any easier. He probably saved my life and I trust him more than anyone else in the world. If he hurt you I would kill him."

Well, that was an unexpected direction and a lot of information to take in. No one ever mentioned Alex's history of arrests before, and it was hard to think of him as out of control. Scott didn't doubt any of it, it was just difficult to get used to.

The emotion he trusted, though. Alex very convincingly believed in this man. So Scott believed in him, too. A little bit.

"Is that where you were while I was growing up?"

"Before you were born."

The springs squeaked as Alex stood, then he took the trash and crumpled it up. Scott heard the dull thud as it landed in the bin. This was going to be his life, he realized. Sounds. Guessing.

"It's been a long day," Alex said, "lie down."

Scott rolled his eyes, but he did, tugging the scratchy covers vaguely toward his shoulder.

"You suck at that. Here." Alex brushed Scott's hand away and settled the covers over him.

"Alex… did you just tuck me in?"

"Yeah."

The springs squeaked again. It was hard to gauge the distance, especially with a muffled metal sound. Still—he liked knowing Alex was here.

Followed by the sickening feeling of knowing Alex would leave.

Scott tried to overlook that. For now, he heard Alex breathing in the next bed—and Alex was right. It had been a long day…

"Alex?"

"Yeah."

"Good night."

"Good night, Scott."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Going to the CIA had not been top on Alex's list of things to do that day, largely because it meant leaving Scott behind. Alex had just promised to do precisely not that. He had spent an hour yesterday pretending he was not settling Scott into his dorm room, pretending they were doing anything but assuaging his baby brother's fears.

They had arrived just yesterday. Scott was only moderately better; Alex hadn't unpacked besides putting a photo by the bed. He said Scott could keep himself entertained guessing which it was.

So Scott had a place at the school, a dorm room, and an attitude that Alex could only roll his eyes at. Teenagers, right? But now they were going to Langley and leaving Scott behind.

"I can stay," he insisted. "Even if I go it'll only be a couple of days."

"I'll be fine," Scott assured him.

"I'll look after him," Hank added.

Alex tried not to wince. Poor Hank. Even when he tried to help he managed to step in it. Then again, Hank had been there when Charles spoke to Scott, he knew what the kid was like. It was a brave man who offered to look after him anyway.

So Alex settled for an apologetic look for leaving Hank to babysit.

"I'll be _fine_ ," Scott repeated.

"Hank has some ideas on how to control your gift," Charles said and Alex waited for the inevitable retort.

"If you want to call it that."

And there it was!

"Oh, I absolutely call it that. Perhaps when we return you'll be able to see what Alex can do."

"Good luck with that," Scott said.

Alex offered a frustrated grin, squeezed Scott's shoulder, and said, "Hank, good luck, and _you_ —Hank is my friend, so if you really deserve it, he has my full permission to kick your ass."

"You said no one could hurt me but you."

"Hank's a proxy." And because it embarrassed Scott more than anything else in the world, Alex kissed his temple. He only snickered silently as Scott blushed a furious shade of pink and pretended not to notice the obscenity. "I'll see you in a few days."

So Alex and Charles headed to Virginia, which was just as well because Alex wanted a word with him.

As they drove, Alex very much enjoying being behind the wheel of Charles's car, he said, "I've wanted to bring Scott to speak with you for a while, but I've been waiting for him to, ah…"

"Grow up?" Charles suggested.

Alex laughed, remembering, "He figured out you're in a wheelchair. He's mortified." Scott didn't figure that out until after making very clear that he considered himself crippled, blind for the rest of his life, and couldn't imagine anything worse.

"Yes, well," Charles said, unable to keep from laughing, "it was bound to happen. I'm quite confident Hank will find a way to restore his vision. He thinks it's similar to your gift and no one's measured or manipulated your energy outputs more than Hank."

Alex remembered Hank's success in controlling his gift in the past. It was the first time Alex had control—before that, he could decide to use his gift, but barely direct it and only usually stop it. The dorky costume was a big step toward control.

Not that he saw it at the time.

"He doesn't trust you," Alex warned. No one knew how to help young mutants better than Charles, but trying convincing a teenager of that. "He was convinced I would take him to an asylum. That he'd be drugged, killed, or sterilized."

"Alex—"

Alex recognized that tone. The 'you have gone too far' voice was all too familiar to him. "His words, not mine. He tends to—he's—I love him."

It was the sterilized bit that really got him. Drugged he sort of understood; their nana had taken medicine to prolong her life just a little more, so he understood how sometimes a harsh drug was better than no hope. Killed was Scott exaggerating like the melodramatic teenager he pretended not to be. But did Alex seem like the kind of guy who would take his own brother to be neutered like a dog?

"I saw how you were with him. Family is everything, Alex, you don't need to explain that to me."

"He's a brat," Alex said. "He's smart and he always has high grades—usually straight A's—but he's, well, his teachers say disruptive. He's mad. He'll listen to me and I'll be around as much as I can—"

"It's all right. I work with teenagers every day, I know what they're like."

"Something happened a couple years ago. Things were getting better until he was about fifteen, then…"

"You don't think someone—hurt him?"

Alex started to say no. That couldn't have happened, because he never would have allowed it. But the truth was, didn't know. He hadn't been around all the time and Scott didn't tell him everything.

"I'll take good care of him, Alex," Charles promised.

Alex had no doubt Charles looked after all of his students and would have helped Scott just because he was a mutant.

He still appreciated it.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: this chapter contains MAJOR spoilers for Apocalypse (and Return of the Jedi).

Boys are perverts and girls are catty.

Jean kept to herself.

Even when they didn't _act_ like perverts or when they kept their claws sheathed, she felt what they felt. She caught a stray thought now and again, whether she wanted to or not.

So she sat alone at lunch, studied alone in the library, worked really hard at her origami, _somehow_ was always the odd girl out on group projects. It hadn't been likely to happen with her last chemistry assignment and Professor Xavier was furious with her.

"Jean, you had no right! Your power is not a toy and using it to control your teachers is not only irresponsible, it's cruel."

"You don't know I did that," Jean argued. How were they planning to prove a passing psychic influence?

Professor Xavier touched his head and she realized she was sunk. Oh yeah. Because she wasn't the only psychic in the school.

"I could," he told her, "but I won't. We both know what you did."

So what was she going to do? Join another group? They had all started their projects, she would be disruptive, it wasn't fair to the other kids. They were all stupid; it wasn't fair to her.

"I'd like you to get involved with a sport."

"A sport?"

"There are plenty of clubs on campus."

Most were unofficial, groups of students who met regularly for basketball, soccer, or dodgeball.

"I'm not into sports."

"It's not a request, Jean."

So she chose a sport. She even enjoyed it, this new hobby of hers. It got her outdoors and gave her something to do, and she had been spending too much time skulking about the library.

Professor Xavier just sighed and shook his head, and the disappointment stung. Was it that big of a surprise when she chose archery?

She didn't know why she agreed to hang out with the weird new kids. Maybe it was because of Scott and how snapping at a crippled boy was low even for her—it wasn't his fault he couldn't see!—or because she liked the optimism and goodness she felt from Kurt. Maybe she was bored and wanted something new. (And, okay, maybe it was because most people treated her like a freak and they didn't. Her title of weirdest kid in school had been soundly stripped away by Kurt.)

Maybe it was because she enjoyed the contact high from the excitement everyone around her felt during Return of the Jedi. The opening crawl was enough to push her close to ecstasy.

Poor Kurt hadn't seen the first two and kept whispering to Scott.

"Vy did ze statue come to life?!"

"It's not a statue, he's a man who got frozen in carbonite."

"Vat is carbonite?"

"It's a made-up metal."

And at Ben Kenobi's revelation…

"Tvins?!"

"Apparently! Shh!"

And on Endor…

"Who are zey? Are zey bad?!"

"I don't know."

"Zey look like teddy bears."

"I don't think the Ewoks are bad, Kurt."

People around them were annoyed, but Jean found that it was impossible not to love Kurt. He was so sweet and enthusiastic.

It would have been a perfect afternoon… had it not ended as it did.

And that was the moment Jean stopped being an observer of other people's lives, when Scott knelt at the edge of a crater and she touched his shoulder like it would help.

It should have been because it was what anyone would do. She should have comforted him because she saw that he was hurting—but Jean had seen a lot of people hurting.

No, it wasn't his pain, it was his simplicity.

Most people are selfish in grief. Jean had never grieved, but she supposed it was necessary to look inside yourself and focus on this new and sudden pain.

Scott was different. He felt pain, yes. When he looked into that absence of a building where his brother should have been, he felt himself torn in two, and Jean felt it, also. But he also felt love. And so did she. The pain was only an inversion and in its truer form was pure, trusting, uncomplicated love.

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

They were quiet as they left Egypt.

As they left En Sabah Nur's destruction, as they carried him indelibly in memory.

Erik had built a metal ship and was flying them home. The white-haired girl had come with them, though she kept to herself. Kurt, worn out, had fallen asleep again. Raven was with Peter, whose leg was wrapped in a makeshift metal cast.

Charles glanced at Jean. His mind felt so raw even his telepathy was quiet, but Charles didn't need it to marvel at Jean's. He had known she was powerful. This… he didn't know how he was going to train her, what the future might hold. Psychics often continued to develop their powers as their minds developed. What might Jean be capable of in a few years?

Whatever it was, he was quite proud of her.

It should have been Alex filling out their party. He was an X-Man and an adult, and while Charles knew that Kurt and Scott had more than earned their spaces on the team, he wished they hadn't needed to. They, and Jean, were still so young.

He noticed Scott and Jean's hands clutching one another. Well! Was this his Jean Grey who wouldn't let anyone come near her? Then he noticed Scott, silently weeping.

Charles opened his mouth to say something, to acknowledge what they had done. Their powers were still so new—Jean's still developing, Scott's only manifested a few days ago. They had not only managed a situation too big for most adults, they had used their powers and probably saved the entire world.

_CharlesCharlesCharlesCharlesCharlesCharlesCharlesCharles…_

Only one person could think that quickly. Charles noticed Peter's eyes darting between him and the kids.

 _What is it, Peter?_ he asked, reaching out telepathically.

 _It's Alex,_ Peter explained. _I couldn't—he didn't make it. I was afraid you were going to say something. I didn't want you to say it in front of the kid._

Charles didn't show his shock. He ran a hand over his newly-bald head. That sort of loss is never easy to absorb.

He looked at Scott, very aware of his promise to Alex. Charles would honor that promise—he would look after Scott—he would have done it anyway. Neither of them expected it to become so heavy so soon.

Charles took a deep breath. Alex had been a good friend, a good man, and later he would let himself mourn. He couldn't do it in front of so many people, though. Instead he took a steadying breath and thought of everything he would need to do when he reached home.

"Also," Peter said, "your house blew up and these guys stole your car."

Scott looked up, suddenly engaged and incredulous.

Peter shrugged. "You did."

"Ah. Well," Charles said. This wasn't the boy who had arrived at the school—was it only yesterday? In less than a week he had gone from being an average human to a combat-tested mutant with no brother. That forced a lot of growing up. He was not the boy who had stolen the car, not anymore. Charles was quite certain as he said, "I'm sure it won't happen again."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Scott was doing well.

As the school was rebuilt, most of the students and teachers were sleeping in tents. Luckily rebuilding wouldn't take long with mutant powers. Some of Charles's plans for a redesign were already being put into effect. Furniture orders had been placed; they had exactly one mattress that hadn't been burnt, and that had been hurled out the window. (Peter was a clever one. A handful, but clever.)

Meanwhile they had thirty kids who needed something to do all day. Not all of them could help restore the school, but most adults were occupied there.

Scott didn't seem to need much to organize a game. There was a soccer ball that could keep them occupied for hours, and endless rounds of 'capture the flag'. He had cajoled Kurt to start teaching them all elementary German ("start with the naughty words"). He got the kids singing campfire songs at night. He kept himself busy because he had no choice.

He figured he and Kurt defaulted together. They were the new kids. There were three other boys around their age, all of whom were computer types obsessed with someone called Steve Jobs who they swore was an unsung hero of technology. Which was fine, but Scott would rather play soccer.

At the moment, he stood, looking up into a tree.

"Come on down, Kurt."

Kurt hesitated. He was quite happy up here, actually. His tail curled tighter around the branch.

"Kurt."

He winced and teleported back to the ground. "Maybe zis is… not ze best idea after all. Maybe I can teach you more German instead!"

Maybe. Although Scott has asked for several words Kurt didn't know and needed explained to him, turning it into a mixed class: German and sex ed rolled into one.

"I thought you wanted to learn."

"Vell… I do…"

"Maybe there's another way—show me how you make a fist."

Kurt curled his fingers over his thumb and shied away from the entire mess. He wasn't a fighter. He didn't know why he had asked for this.

Scott rearranged Kurt's hand. "Thumb on the outside," he explain.

"Even if it is…"

"You only got three fingers, but this one's still a thumb," Scott reasoned. "Now—try to hit me."

Kurt swung wildly, ducking his head and sending himself twirling. Scott caught him before he fell. He got bashed with a tail for the trouble.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. You okay?"

"I think so."

"If you really don't wanna do this…"

"No—I vant to learn. I just don't… I vasn't… I'm not a fighter."

"That's why you learn. Come on. Hit me."

Kurt tried again. This time he managed to get his fist in Scott's general direction—and the next thing he knew he was tumbling through the air. He 'ported to put his feet on the ground again, then back to Scott.

"How do you do zat?"

Scott grinned. "That's what I'm trying to teach you, man."

An hour later, Kurt still hadn't mastered many defensive maneuvers, but he was flinching less and could make a fist. They called it quits for the day, but he was ready to try again tomorrow.

Scott wasn't much for being part of a group, so he didn't sit with the other students to eat, just grabbed food and parked himself a ways off. Kurt joined him.

"Vere did you learn to fight?"

"My brother taught me."

"Vy?"

"He said if I was gonna get myself into fights, I better learn to get myself out."

Kurt was quiet for a moment. He hadn't met Scott's brother.

"It's okay," Scott said, brushing off his face. "I mean. It won't bring him back… best to move on, right?"


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Charles was grateful for the help and putting the school back together took a lot of his attention. He meant to talk to Scott before, but Scott had a way of putting himself on the fringe of groups. He was never one of them: always either leading or hovering just beyond.

One night when most of the students were asleep and the rest were hoping their soft conversations went unnoticed, Scott stayed behind to pick up trash.

"Scott."

"Hey, Professor."

"How was the battle?"

"Red team won."

Of course he would call his side that. Scott had quickly established himself king of 'capture the flag', building better strategies than the other team. They had made it Scott and the under-tens against the older kids today. Red team still mopped the floor with blue team.

"I appreciate what you've done for the kids."

Scott shrugged. "It's nothing."

"I know this isn't what you were expecting."

Another shrug.

"Scott, what happened when you were fifteen?"

Scott froze. This whole time he had continued stuffing trash into a bag—feed a few dozen kids pizza on paper plates and you may as well eat in a landfill. Now he put the bag down and turned to Charles.

"Why?"

"Alex told me."

"Told you _what_?" There was a dangerous edge to Scott's tone.

Charles chose his words carefully. "He told me you changed. He came here, you know."

"Yeah, he told me."

"Not then. When your parents asked him to leave, he needed a place to stay for a while, so he came back here. Mutation is frightening. I think you know that. Most of the students have less destructive gifts, but for someone like you or your brother, it's natural to be afraid of yourself. Your parents were afraid, too. They would have kept Alex at home—"

Scott understood. "But they had me."

Charles nodded. "Alex had been on his own before and he always eventually found his feet, but losing you…" They were brothers, but with decades between them, they didn't exactly have traditional sibling dynamic. "He loved you."

"I know that."

"Of course."

"How could you even think I don't know that?" Scott demanded.

"I think you know, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded."

It was personal, grief. For Charles, Alex was an old friend, but also a student. Someone he could like and be proud of at once. He imagined for Scott this was more like the world cracking.

Scott didn't say anything for while. Then he sniffled, nodded, and went back to collecting trash. "They didn't tell me why Alex left," he muttered. "I didn't know he was a mutant. I thought maybe he was—you know."

"What—you mean gay?"

"He could've told me. I wouldn't have cared."

"Alex wasn't gay."

"He was a mutant. He could have told me that."

"Maybe he was afraid you would react the way your parents did. You know what Alex's gift was like—"

Scott shifted suddenly, twitched away from Charles, shoulders up. What had he said?

"No," Scott replied, "I don't."

_You know what Alex's gift was like._

Scott had never seen his brother's power. Alex meant to show him just as soon as Scott's vision was restored. Instead...

"I didn't mean—"

"Forget it," Scott said, turning to go.

"I'm so sorry, Scott."

He kept walking, not even breaking his stride as he responded with a gesture over his shoulder. As a student, he wasn't permitted to express himself with that particular finger. Alex would have responded… and before Charles could decide if he was dealing with one of his students or his friend's brother, Scott was gone.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The mansion was rebuilt in a fortnight. The upper levels, anyway, enough that the students could move in again, have a proper home. The lower levels were another matter. Jean and Erik had helped rebuild Hank's lab and the hangar in the space of an hour, but Cerebro and their training-room-in-progress were taking longer. Those needed more than finesse; they needed Hank, and there was no rushing him.

The X-Men were still very much a work in progress. But the school was restored. Students were settling in, allowing Charles to address less tangible issues.

So one afternoon he found himself in the students' dorm, knocking and waiting.

"Come in!"

He did.

All things considered, the room was… not awful. For a place where two teenage boys lived, it was actually quite tidy.

Scott sat on his bed, a slim book held in his hand, his thumb serving as a bookmark. He sighed when he saw Charles. "Let me guess. You want to talk about my brother."

"I want to see how you are," Charles replied. He had watched Scott shine in the chaos after the school was destroyed, and was watching him now fade as life took on a steadier rhythm for the others.

And, yes, he wanted to talk about Alex.

"I'm fine."

"Scott, when A—"

"When are classes set to start?"

Charles stifled a sigh. Scott was helpful with the younger children and had even spoken civilly to his parents—albeit over the telephone. Despite his newfound maturity, he wasn't coping well with loss. It was normal, Charles supposed, but that didn't stop him trying to help.

"Summer session begins next week."

"Great," Scott said, "can't wait. Can I get back to my book now?"

Charles couldn't help looking at the book and tried not to wince. _The Red Pony_. He couldn't decide which was worse: that Scott had chosen the book intentionally for its mirrors to his own life, or unintentionally and unknowing what was in store.

"Scott…"

There was a soft _bamf_ and a puff of smoke, followed by a second a moment later, and suddenly Kurt was crouched on the second bed.

"Guten tag!" he said. "Sorry. Should I go?" Kurt had a way of sounding sorry but no less cheerful, and it made him a rather delightful sort of person indeed.

"No," Charles assured him, "I wouldn't evict you from your own bedroom—and I was just going. Goodbye, Kurt."

"'Bye."

As Charles left, he heard another _bamf **,**_ then, "Vat are you reading?" And, "Dude, stop hovering like that!"


	20. Chapter Twenty

Jean liked summer school. She knew she had changed in the past weeks, and in a way, it was strange. Her powers were not constantly so strong as they had been that moment in Cairo. The adrenaline, the fear, they made her more powerful. But her average power level was higher than it had been before.

It felt right. She was supposed to be this way, and she could feel it.

One thing utterly unchanged was her enjoyment of school. She was good at school, always did well, and enjoyed always doing well. Doing better, if she was being honest, than the other students. She still did, and still liked that part of summer school.

After classes, she stopped to see her boyfriend. They hadn't really done the girlfriend/boyfriend thing, not very well. There had been some handholding and some clumsy kissing, neither of them really knowing what to do with their tongues, but she had been so busy rebuilding the school and frankly a bit flattered that her power now put her on par with Professor Xavier and Mr. Lehnsherr.

So for a while Jean had sort of ignored Scott and Kurt, at least until she saw Scott wrestling with that new girl, Storm. He said he was teaching her and Kurt how to fight, but Jean was still... jealous.

She had slipped away from Scott.

It was only fair he slipped away from her in return.

Now things were different.

She went to his room after class. Scott wasn't going to class, although his homework was piled more-or-less neatly on the desk thanks to Kurt. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, and the boy himself a lump under the covers.

Jean sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Scott."

"Mmf."

She nudged off her shoes as she asked, "You feeling any better?"

"Mf."

Jean stretched out on top of the covers. They did not quite fit together on the twin bed, which was probably why they had twin beds, to discourage this sort of thing. It didn't work.

His mind was calm. Weighted, like a coat in a river.

"So Jubilee is still talking to me like were friend. I'm not sure we are," Jean admitted. "We've gone to school together for over a year. She's never been mean to me or anything, but we haven't been friends. Now that I'm friends with her boyfriend, she thinks we should be friends."

"'issn."

"Hm?"

"Kurt."

"Oh. That." Jean laughed. "It's only a matter of time, right?"

Which frankly didn't help. She knew Jubilee knew Kurt liked her, and Jubilee just wasn't sure. What was there to be unsure about? Kurt was even more a telepath's dream than Scott. Jean had yet to pick up a single sour thought from Kurt. So what was Jubilee waiting for?

"Boyfriends, though. More trouble than they're worth."

Jean heard the mistake the second the words were out of her mouth. Scott was still so raw, she knew even an unintentional barb would stick.

"You should find someone else."

"Scott, no-you know I didn't mean that."

"You should. Because I'm never coming back."

"You're right here."

"I'm not."

She stroked his face, his neck, down to his collarbone. Scott didn't respond.

He wasn't at his best. He was a few days past needing a shower, disengaged, barely leaving his bed. Jean's mind flitted to the thought of stroking farther down, but she had never done that before and even though boys were supposed to really like that, she didn't want to. Not like this, anyway.

"You're worrying me, Scott."

He pulled the pillow over his face.

"I miss you. Do you want to talk about A-"

"No."

" _Anything,_ " Jean concluded. "Do you want to talk about _anything_?"

He didn't.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Hallways are bigger than most people realize. No one knew that better than Kurt, who was currently bouncing from wall to wall and teleporting to earn himself a few yards now and then. He leapt over the railing and dropped down a staircase, teleporting at the last second. He could not imagine having to walk everywhere. Sometimes he did walk, yes, but only with someone to keep him company. Alone, Kurt couldn't be bothered.

At least until he reached his destination.

Then he dropped to the ground.

"Herr Professor? Do you have a moment?"

Kurt wasn't sure he should be here. In fact, he felt like he had done something rather wrong, something like betrayal, and it made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't not, either, though, and his fingers twisted nervously with the impossibility of his situation.

But because he felt he needed help, he had gone to Professor Xavier's office. He had even knocked instead of bamfing through the door!

Professor Xavier looked up from the papers on his desk. He seemed to have a lot of those. Any time Kurt wanted to complain about the amount of homework he faced, he thought about how much his teachers had to grade.

"Yes, Kurt, of course. What's on your mind?"

"Vell… ah… and zis is… a rather delicate situation…"

"And you have my utmost discretion."

Kurt gave an apologetic sort of smile. "No," he said, "I don't. It's about my roommate."

"Ah."

Kurt didn't mind having a roommate. Actually, he kind of liked it. He hadn't lived alone in the circus, and the circus had been his whole life-as long as he remembered, anyway. It wasn't hard to fall asleep with a lamp on when Scott was reading late, and usually Scott would pause whatever he was doing to help Kurt with problems—like how to make Jubilee notice him as more than the awkward new guy already! (He was secretly starting to wonder a little how Scott had started dating one of the prettiest girls in school. His advice was often unsuccessful.)

And Kurt, if you asked him, was the ideal roommate. He was tidy and positive and he never woke you up with creaky floorboards because he could teleport!

Except, lately, things had been a little bit less perfect. Kurt was still tidy and positive and a teleporter! But Scott…

"How bad is it, Kurt?"

Kurt looked away. "Jean is going to be very, very angry."

"I might have known Jean was involved."

"Sh-she says at times like zese you protect you friends. And I think she is right! But… I'm scared now."

"Am I correct in thinking that you and Jean have been misleading me for some time?"

Kurt squirmed. He couldn't help it. He had never seen Professor Xavier cross before. This might be the first time. "Yes…"

"The truth now, Kurt."

He gave it.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Charles remembered what Alex was like after Darwin died. Alex had blamed himself. He had been... well, Charles did not know him well before. He thought Alex had been more abrasive than usual, but perhaps at the time that had been usual for him.

Scott was simply shut down. Reality had hit him hard.

"Hello, Scott."

Scott didn't respond. He was in bed, covers pulled halfway over his head.

"Your friends are worried about you."

Scott made a motion that might have been a shrug. "Kurt's stuck with me."

Under the circumstances, if Kurt wished to be un-stuck, Charles would not have objected. There was plenty of space in the mansion. Kurt had not indicated any such wish.

"He doesn't seem to think so. Neither does Jean."

Scott scoffed. "She keeps telling me she knows how I feel. It's bullshit. She doesn't know anything about me, she didn't know Alex. And you're no better! You don't know, either, you have no idea what this feels like."

"When my sister-"

"Fuck you."

"Scott."

He had lost his brother and Charles was willing to overlook many things in light of Scott's grief, but there were limits.

"Your sister _what_? Did you _miss her_?" Scott spat. But at least he sat up to say it.

He was being cruel, and while Charles was not hurt, he was worried. This wasn't Scott, this wasn't Alex's brother. Grief was pushing him further and further from who he was, and Charles wasn't sure how to bring him back.

Instead, he answered the question, matter-of-factly: "I did, actually." He knew the feeling of missing a sibling.

"Alex isn't coming back."

Charles nodded. He had simply wanted to say that he understood the pain of being separated from someone he loved. He wasn't going to fight about it, though. That wouldn't help. Scott was a child. He was hurt, confused... lost.

"What happened when you were fifteen?"

Usually Scott avoided the question. This time, to Charles's surprise, he said, "I found the letters."

"The letters?"

Scott nodded. "To Alex. He used to send me a card for my birthday. I made my parents save a piece of cake in case he showed up... and I wrote to him, asking him to come home. I always thought... the cards were some kind of herald, his way of saying he would come back. I kind of begged him. And they hid every letter and for six years I had the memory of a brother. It's all I'll ever have. Alex spent six years remembering my birthday and never even got a goddamn thank-you card in all that time. This tiny thing. And, yeah, I know he loved me, I don't know if…"

"He knew. And it meant so much to him. Alex was capable of more because of who you believed he could be. It's good to grieve, but don't let grief take away who your brother was. He'll be with you for the rest of your life."

Charles had heard worse, he was sorry to say. Parents did not always understand mutant children and often reacted to them with fear and anger. Nothing he could say would bring back the years.

"I'd like you to come with me," Charles said.

He expected Scott to object.

Instead, he said, "Give me a minute."

"I think you've had enough of those."

Scott shrugged and pushed back the covers. He shuffled to the laundry basket and rifled through it, finding a pair of pajama pants to pull over his boxers.

"'S go, then."

Charles took Scott into the basement. It was mostly restored now, a few raw patches here and there. From the way Scott tilted his head, the look of vague marvel, it was sufficiently impressive.

"What is this place?"

"The basement," Charles said, perhaps unnecessarily. "Some of our more advanced technology is housed down here. It's where the X-Men will train, when it's ready." _When they're ready._ Until this, Charles had thought Scott a certainty for the team. Now he wasn't sure the pressure was appropriate.

Scott nodded.

"It's where your brother died."

Scott stopped marveling at his surroundings. Instead, he turned to glare at Charles.

"Why the hell would you—"

"We have a machine here called Cerebro. Hank designed it."

"I don't care—"

"Cerebro amplifies brainwaves, and with it, my telepathy. Apocalypse found me through Cerebro and could have destroyed my mind or used it to control every person on the planet. He had already taken control of Cerebro and there was nothing Hank could do toward stopping him. So I told Alex to destroy it. He did this with Cerebro still tied to my mind and that wasn't easy for him to do. Your brother trusted me and I made him hurt me, even for the greater good, and I'm so very sorry for that."

Charles saw that it hadn't been easy for Scott to hear this. It hadn't been easy for Scott to get out of bed, either, and it was not exactly progress with this degree of coercion.

Scott's feet were rooted to the floor, but he was twitching. He had gone very red.

"So, what? It's easier to be mad? Then I'm not moping, then you don't have to deal with that?"

"You said I don't know how it feels, Scott."

Scott nodded.

"Tell me."

"Why? Because you're my teacher and you care so much?"

"No, I'm not your teacher here, I'm not asking as your teacher. In fact, what I'm asking is very unfair, but a dear friend died trying to help me. I'm so sorry for what I asked Alex to do and I'll never be able to say that to him. I'm asking you to bear this with me, and I shouldn't, you're far too young, but it's more than I can bear alone. How do you feel, Scott?"

He shrugged again, but this time like he was shrugging away from something. "It hurts." It sounded like a question, but wasn't. Scott sniffled and pushed his glasses up, pressing his hands against his eyes. "Oh, God, it hurts!" He replaced his glasses and shook his head. "There's a piece of me being ripped out every day. He's not supposed to be dead, he's supposed to be here, and every day there's a place where he's supposed to be and I can feel it, this new, fresh hell.

"It's my fault. He wasn't even supposed to be here. He was supposed to be back home, but I asked him to stay. I asked him to stay with me. And I wasn't even here. I was out with my friends. Every day for the rest of my life I'll live without Alex. I'll live with the place where he should be. How do I live with that, Professor?"

Charles didn't know.

Scott was right: Charles had never lost someone he loved so much. He had lost his legs, though, seen Erik and Raven walk away from him. But it was different and he wouldn't insult Scott by pretending otherwise.

"Alex made the choices he made to live the life that made him happiest."

"Was it here?" Scott asked. "Right here, where we're... where I'm standing?"

Charles indicated some way down the hall.

Scott took a few steps, slowly, then paused. Charles had been unconscious when it happened. He did not know where, precisely, Alex had stood. But Scott was walking away from the rebuilt Cerebro, in the right general direction.

He fell to his knees, sobbing too hard to stand, too hard to speak. It was everything that had been building over the past weeks, all the pain Scott banished behind activity, duty, and finally numbness.

He stayed on the floor for a while.

Charles sat beside him. He didn't, actually, know what to do now. He had dealt with children in pain, but not like this. So he guessed. He held Scott and gave him quite literally a shoulder to cry on. It was an ugly cry, the sort that turned to hacking for air. And Charles let himself feel the pure agony wrenching his student apart, the feeling of so much love and the loss that came with it. He let himself bear it without being broken.

"Can you... can you do this?" Scott asked, drying his face on his shirt. "Can you be here?"

"It's my house, I should think so."

"No, I mean..."

"I can get into and out of the chair on my own."

Scott nodded. "I loved him."

"I know. And he knew, too."

"I didn't... really tell him..."

"You used to, when you were little. He told us all about you. He was so proud of you. He taught you how to high-five."

"He did?"

"Well, he claims."

"I think he did."

"I think so, too. The pain you're feeling now, Scott, it won't go away. You'll learn to live with it, to make it a part of you, and carry him with you for the rest of your life. It feels like a curse, I know-"

"No," Scott interrupted, but for once he was not being rude. "No, I don't think it does, Professor. If all I have left of my brother is the pain… then okay. It still hurts." So Alex was still there.

"One day the memories will be stronger than the pain."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

There were some deeply cool places in the mansion. The Danger Room was an obvious choice; the called it that, but anyone who had snuck down after hours knew it produced more than just danger. Hank’s lab. The hangar—basically the entire underground. There were video games upstairs, though those were popular.  
  
Scott’s favorite place was not underground and he’d got the best of Pong years ago.  
  
The outdoors were nice, but he didn’t love it the way Kurt did—maybe because Scott didn’t have a tail with which to dangle from tree limbs.  
  
Storm had spent the past winter making an indoor garden in what had once been a “solarium” (translation: room with lots of windows).  
  
Jean was most at home in Hank’s lab and a pair of goggles, but she would settle for the chemistry classroom.  
  
And Scott…  
  
He took a deep breath filled with the scent of grease and oil. Here he felt best, with industrial rubber and chrome. Alex had taught him a little about cars. Hank, too—as a proxy. Scott figured out more by looking, by logic. By trial and error sometimes.  
  
He grabbed a duffel bag off the floor and tossed it into the back of the car. Trunk door still open, he checked his wallet. His license was there, as he knew it would be—but it was always best to double-check. Summer and weekends working at the movie theater had left him with enough cash for gas and junk food, a room if he wanted.  
  
Scott sighed. Yeah. He was ready.  
  
Something thudded on the roof of the car. There was a yelp, then another thud.  
  
“What are you doing, Kurt?”  
  
“I vas being sneaky.”  
  
“Dude. You were not being sneaky.”  
  
Scott closed the trunk just in time to see Kurt disappear in a puff of smoke. He reappeared on the trunk lid.  
  
“I can be sneaky.”  
  
“Sure, man. What’s up?”  
  
“I thought…”  
  
Ten weeks after Alex died, Kurt didn’t know the English word for the things covering the window. Scott told him and it was delightful. Curtains! _Kurt_ -ains! It had been ridiculous, but Kurt was thrilled, teleporting all over them.  
  
It was the first time Scott laughed after he lost his brother.  
  
“…maybe I can come too. So you vould not go alone,” Kurt suggested, looking hopeful and vulnerable. Scott had been in the field with this guy, he knew what Kurt was capable of.  
  
He also knew that Kurt was still a kid. Like a kid brother who, when you ignored him for your girlfriend, looked like the dog put out in the rain. (In Kurt’s defense, Scott’s reply of “yeah, but you don’t have tits” was pretty tactless.)  
  
A lot of planning went into this trip. Scott would sit in Professor Xavier’s office and have the same conversation while the Professor patiently explored every possible outcome over and over—until, finally, Scott made his decision. He planned routes and alternate routes, kept written down the numbers he might need to call even though he had memorized them.  
  
He packed everything he might possibly need, which was why for a three-day trip, he had a duffel bag in the trunk.  
  
Kurt wasn’t part of the plan.  
  
He was still grinning hopefully.  
  
Scott sighed and shook his head. “You cleared it with Professor Xavier? Got all the forms in?”  
  
Kurt nodded. “Yes.”  
  
Kurt wasn’t eighteen yet. He would have needed to submit a plan, get it approved, have it on file. He needed permission.  
  
“Okay. Get in.”  
  
They left the school without talking. Scott handed the road atlas to Kurt and had him navigate.  
  
Scott wanted as much time as possible, but a limited amount, too—he wanted the option to stay but an ultimate requirement that he leave. He left after class on Friday.  
  
That night, the boys stretched out on top of the car, looking up at the stars.  
  
“You sure this is okay?” Scott asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“There’s a blanket in the backseat, if you’re cold.”  
  
“Zis is fine. In the circus I slept in various places.”  
  
“Like tents?”  
  
“And caravans, if ve vere traveling. Zis is nothing for ze cold, Germany is much colder.”  
  
Scott had asked, once, if the Munich Circus stayed in Munich. Apparently that was just a name and they traveled around the country. Kurt couldn’t tell a story without animating himself, jumping around and reenacting events. He couldn’t tell a story falling asleep in a field in Pennsylvania.  
  
“We can keep going if you want. Probably less than an hour to a motel.”  
  
“This is fine.”  
  
Eventually both boys drifted off.  
  
Scott woke up not long after dawn. He had no recollection of dreaming. Kurt was next to him, curled up with his tail tucked under his chin.  
  
Scott slid off the car. That blanket was still in the backseat. He laid it over Kurt.  
  
Then he pissed into the field on the side of the road.  
  
Scott kept a book in the glove compartment. He sat in the driver’s seat, shoes in the dirt, and read until Kurt teleported to the ground. Lazy bastard.  
  
That day’s drive was tenser than the previous one. Scott’s knuckles were almost white against the wheel. Kurt did not fiddle with the radio or try to make conversation. He didn’t read the road atlas, either.  
  
He didn’t need to.  
  
Scott knew Ohio like the back of his hand.  
  
He didn’t say anything, just bordered on hyperventilating as he turned onto the street. Kurt stared at the normalcy. He had heard about places like this, but never been to one. The houses all looked very similar. Not the same, but similar. Kids played in yards, some of them noticing him and pausing.  
  
Scott parked outside a house with an empty lawn. It was well-tended, but had no children, no toys.  
  
“Scott?” He had sat behind the wheel for some time, unmoving.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Remembering where he was, Scott unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.  
  
“Should I wait here?” Kurt asked. He had come here as Scott’s friend, but it was Scott’s world now. Likely he wanted to do this for himself. And Scott just wore red sunglasses. Kurt looked like… what he was.  
  
“No—come with me.”  
  
They had been in situations before, in danger. In Alaska, in Cairo, in the Danger Room itself, and Scott was always solid. Kurt had seen him angry and broken, but never scared.  
  
He was scared now.  
  
But he made himself ring the doorbell.  
  
It was a clear, warm day, not sweltering summer yet. It was beautiful, in fact. They heard children laughing, though a little less now as people noticed who was at the Summerses’ front door.  
  
It opened after a moment.  
  
The woman there was so old, Kurt wondered if this was Scott’s mom or his grandma. Her hair was gray and her face lined, and she looked tired—but only for a moment. She looked tired until she saw them. And Kurt remembered that Alex had been so much older than Scott.  
  
“Scott.”  
  
He swallowed. “Hey, Ma.”  
  
She hugged him tightly, clinging. “Oh, Scott, Scott, you’re home.” She held him for a long time until she even noticed that he wasn’t alone. “And who’s this?” she asked, wiping her eyes.  
  
“Kurt Wagner,” he said, offering his hand.  
  
“But in the Munich Circus, he was known as the Amazing Nightcrawler.”  
  
They spent the rest of the day with Scott’s parents. Both seemed a little uncertain of Kurt, but they were too happy to see Scott to really care. There was so much to catch up on. So much time between them.  
  
After a couple of hours, Mrs. Summers insisted they stay for lunch. Scott cleared the table after.  
  
“He never did that before,” Mr. Summers commented.  
  
“I did so!” Scott objected.  
  
Mrs. Summers nudged her husband.  
  
“He didn’t.”  
  
They stayed later and kept talking. Catching up, getting to know each other again—for the first time, for Kurt. After a few hours, Mrs. Summers said she needed to pick up a few things if the boys were staying for dinner. Scott offered to go with her, but she insisted he stay.  
  
When she was gone, Mr. Summers asked a question that had clearly been simmering in him for a while: “What really happened to Alex?”  
  
Scott shook his head. “You don’t need to know about it, Dad. But—he had this other life full of people who cared about him. When he didn’t have us, he wasn’t alone.”  
  
“Was he happy?”  
  
“He was a hero.”  
  
They had waited for a specific deadline to pass before Scott was ready to go home.  
  
His parents knew, too, and apparently they understood.  
  
The following morning, Scott’s parents asked, “You’re sure you can’t stay?”  
  
Scott shook his head. “We have class tomorrow. We have to head back. But I’ll see you soon.”  
  
“We love you, Scott.”  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
“And Kurt, it was very nice to meet you.”  
  
Kurt had never been to a suburb before. As they drove away, he had now met a suburban couple; slept in a suburban bedroom; and eaten lunch, dinner, and even Scott’s 18th birthday cake in a suburban kitchen.  
   
 


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**2005**

"Scott. Hey, get up."

Scott groaned and pushed his head out from beneath the covers. He squinted at the alarm clock, the analog numbers too bright for this time of morning.

"Jean, it's not even seven o'clock."

Too early to be awake—but suddenly he didn't mind, because was on top of him, kissing him.

"'Morning, old man," she murmured. "You up yet?"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "I think you know the answer to that."

There were dozens of students now, most of them teenagers, making time alone a rare and precious commodity. Scott and Jean made the most of that time—a muffled, efficient, delightful entanglement of unbrushed hair and unbrushed teeth and fresh sweat.

After, they both showered and prepared to go about the day like normal people. Well, like normal mutant teachers at a mutant school who sometimes fought crime on the side!

"Wear the green."

Scott paused, midway through buttoning his shirt. "I like this one."

Jean smiled at him the way she did when he was utterly hopeless.

"It's my fault, I never should have let you go shopping by yourself."

"It's just clothes…"

"And that's why I pick."

Scott sighed and shook his head at her, but he changed to the green shirt.

As he started for the door, Jean called him back: "Hey."

"Hm?"

She kissed him, gently this time. "You gonna be okay today?"

"Sure. Just another day. See you at eight."

"Yeah. I love you."

"I know."

There had been a time they believed being X-Men would be the toughest thing they ever did. They had certainly been told so, and the past years' training had bordered at times on grueling. He was an old man now and he felt the aches and bruises more as they healed slower.

And, yes, teaching was a lot harder than he had expected, but that was nothing compared with the time outside of class.

That day after first period, all of the students but one left the classroom. He held back, hands in his pockets, fidgeting.

"Mr. Summers?"

"Bobby. What's going on?"

"I, um…" Bobby shuffled a bit and scratched the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. "Um, I was just… wondering… howdyoutalktogirls?"

Ah.

That.

Scott had lost count of how many times he had been asked questions like that. He suspected it was partly based on looks—most mutants looked basically human, like he did, whereas Kurt's physiology was… noticeably different. His advice might seem less applicable.

"It helps to stop thinking of them as girls."

"I don't think I can do that."

"You don't have to stop _noticing_ girls," Scott amended, aware that it was tough advice for a teenager to follow. "Just don't think of them as another species. Talk to girls as people—which they are."

"Sure… but…"

"You're nice. You're a good person."

"How did you get Dr. Grey to notice you?"

"Oh—on our first mission," Scott said. He was fairly certain it was then that she noticed him for him, the first time she saw _him_. And in fairness, he had been just as bad. The first time he saw her for more than being snarky and beautiful was on that helicopter.

Bobby hadn't liked the answer much.

A moment later, Scott realized why. He didn't mean to suggest that—that a woman wouldn't notice him until he made X-Man. "Anyone worth your time will see that and they'll value a good person over a flashy one."

Bobby considered that for a moment. "What about everyone else?"

Sometimes, some days more than others, Scott couldn't help but think of what his brother would say. It wasn't repeatable, though. Not to a student.

It could be amended: "Everyone else doesn't matter, do they?"

Such conversations were not uncommon.

Neither were the sorts of conversations like he had that day during lunch, when he sat with a couple of students and mostly listened to them talk about the challenges of being a mutant, things he knew but they were learning.

There wasn't much break in the job.

Ororo had taken over Scott's turn supervising detention—a gift, she said—so he had a breather before teaching the kids karate. It was rare he left the karate class without a new anecdote, and today's included a twelve-year-old who failed (again) to take him in a spar (of course), so after she shook his hand, she dropped to the floor and wrapped herself around his legs. He did eventually fall and a healthy dose of dignity was lost by all parties—but it made quite the story.

It was Danger Room after that.

Red Team vs. Blue Team.

Red Team won. (Red Team always won.)

The students had some time between Danger Room and curfew, and it should have been a break for Scott, except that one of the students took a bad fall in the Danger Room and Scott walked her to the medical bay.

"Are you sure I shouldn't...?" Ororo asked.

Scott shrugged it off. "Red Team is my responsibility. See you at eight."

So he took the student to Jean and waited while she got herself patched up.

"I can't believe I was so stupid!"

"Come on, Kitty—you made a mistake. That's all."

"What if I can never be an X-Man now?"

"It's a sprained wrist," Scott reasoned. "Most of us have had worse."

"I lost control."

He had to smile at that. If there was anyone who knew about lost control! The Summers brothers had been the poster boys for lack of control.

"Do you know why they call me Cyclops?"

Kitty shook her head. "I mean—because of your eyes, but…"

"When I was younger, I wore ruby quartz glasses to control my gift. I had a visor for melee situations."

She frowned, not understanding. "Why?"

"I couldn't control my powers. Not at all."

"Really?" she asked, surprised but not really doubting him.

Jean laughed. "Not for a second," she said. "He was useless."

"Thank you, darling."

"You're welcome."

"All set, Kitty. Keep the bandage on for a couple of days, you should be fine."

"Thanks, Dr. Grey. Mr. Summers."

Scott knew he was going to get an earful about this. Jean thought he took on too much and needed to relinquish a few responsibilities. The team was growing, good people they trusted, and he was getting worn through. She wasn't wrong. Still, maybe there was something to be said for being worn through. Like a favorite old sweatshirt.

By the time he had showered off the sweat of a very long day and pulled on his pajamas, it was nearly eight o'clock. He was going to be late.

Scott had one final appointment to keep.

He headed to the kitchen.

Jean, Ororo, and Kurt were already there, Kurt perched on the back of his chair.

Scott joined them, setting his glasses on the table. There were a few pairs around the mansion and sometimes he liked the reminder of how far he had come.

With Scott there, they peeled the lids off ice cream containers. It had a thin soft-melty layer on top and was still frozen inside. They dug spoons in, not bothering with bowls.

For a while no one said anything more than: "Pass the strawberry," or, "Stop hogging the Americone Dream."

"Happy birthday, Scott."

"Happy birthday."

"I'd say it, too, but I hate to follow a trend."

"Thanks, everyone, even Ororo."

"Has it been... okay?" Jean asked.

They all knew what it meant. Kurt and Jean had been with Scott, watched him break into a thousand pieces, and Ororo met him while he was building himself back up.

"It's been great. Thank you all for just the right amount of celebration."

"Ve vill make up for it ven it is my birthday!" Kurt promised.

The others laughed.

"I don't doubt it," Ororo said. But for now, it was Scott's birthday, and everyone hanging around in pajamas with far too much ice cream-that was his idea of a celebration.

The seriousness melted away far faster than the ice cream, and soon enough their small and pointed meeting had dissolved into a proper little party.

Scott excused himself after a while, just stepping out for a breath.

He didn't go outside, though. He turned, went down on hall and another, away from the noise and joy. It was quiet. Sometimes quiet was nice.

Scott went down to stand outside the Danger Room. Professor Xavier joined him a few minutes later.

"I thought I might find you here."

"I just needed a minute."

Professor Xavier nodded like he understood. Scott had learned over the years that he didn't try to understand what other people felt, just respected it. That was better somehow. Sometimes feelings needed to belong to you.

"Have you been comparing yourself to him?"

"I think, on some level, yes. You were right. The pain... became a part of who I am. And because it did, Alex has always been with me. It's strange to be older than my big brother. It's a birthday he'll never see. That's hard."

"That's okay."

Scott nodded. "I know."

They were quiet for a moment.

Alex had mattered, and had died, for both of them, and it was something they had shared for decades. The grief never fully disappeared, but it faded, until the memories became stronger than the pain.

"Do you remember, Scott, that question you used to ask me?"

Scott nodded.

"Nearly every day, for a while."

"I remember."

"He would be proud of you."

Scott nodded again, a rote reply.

"I'm proud of you."

He was a grown man sulking in the basement, wearing his pajamas, on his birthday. But he didn't doubt that all of this aside, he was worth being proud of.

"That's not news."

Scott grinned at Professor Xavier. Alex had called him 'Charles' by that age, but Scott never could. Perhaps it was because Alex and Charles were about the same age, because Scott knew it wasn't how much Professor Xavier had helped him. He had done the same for Alex, and for hundreds of other mutants.

"Come upstairs," Scott said. "We have... Kurt probably ate the rest of the Americone Dream, but there's some Half-Baked and strawberry. We don't need to stay down here and sulk. Alex wouldn't want that."

"I think Alex would have wanted something a good deal stronger than ice cream!"

"That he would," Scott agreed, laughing. "But you knew Alex. He would man up and have a sundae."

_**The End** _


End file.
